Knitting Lessons
by Darling Summers
Summary: Dobby decides he wants knitting lessons from Dumbledore; two-shot. Set during GoF.


**This was prompted by two separate scenes in the book, the first being Dobby's Christmas present to Harry in GoF, and the second being the scene in HBP where Dumbledore claims to like Muggle knitting patterns. The coincidence had me wondering; how did Dobby learn to knit? Here's my take on it.**

* * *

><p>An autumnal dusk had begun to creep over the horizon, slowly extinguishing the sun's light from the sky. The moon had not yet fully risen, leaving the unused hallways and classrooms of Hogwarts darkened and shadowy. As curfew had already been imposed, only prefects, professors and the occasional ghost still roamed the corridors.<p>

The tapers in the common rooms and private rooms where the staff resided burst into life with soft, slow flames, detecting the change in lambency. The current headmaster of the school, Albus Dumbledore, laid down his knitting needles for a moment as he cast a quiet _lumos, _illuminating his rummaging in the drawers of the claw-footed desk. His fingers curled around the string of a confiscated Screaming Yoyo, which squealed in alarm before he dropped it hastily.

Closing the drawer, he picked up a sweet wrapper and began to shred it carefully, thoughts otherwise occupied. He had noticed that occasionally, he had a tendency to consume a rather vast quantity of sweets when consumed with a problem. Over the years, the house elves had picked up on this habit, and thoughtfully provided him with a bowl of sweets whenever the need called for it.

Last Monday, to his dismay, Sybil Trelawney had methodically unwrapped and devoured at least three quarters of the bowl, while informing him in matter-of-fact tones that Mercury's alignment with Saturn was a sure sign that somebody in the immediate vicinity of the castle was not who they appeared to be.

She then proceeded to share several theories as to how Harry Potter had been entered into the Tournament, including (but not limited to) house-elf conspiracies, enchanted suits of armour, and a pink china teacup that one of her third-year students had broken. One particularly odd hypothesis even went so far as to feature all three elements within it, but all theories shared the common element of ending in Harry's tragic demise, something which she had been openly predicting since the previous September. Albus marvelled at how the inner workings of a mind that had proved itself capable of the precise, albeit occasionally obfuscating, art of Divination, could content itself with weaving nothing more than mild absurdities.

Regardless, in the days since, the contents of the bowl had slowly diminished as he had tried again and again to pinpoint the cause of Harry's involvement. He was inclined to agree with Alastor; there was a very strong possibility that whoever had entered Harry's name meant the Boy-Who-Lived a great deal of harm.

The wrapper of the mint humbug finally conceded defeat, as its fragments could not be shredded any further. Albus vanished the remains and pushed back his glasses, which had been sliding inconspicuously down his crooked nose. He stared at the spot where the wrapper had been with tired eyes, unable to contemplate anything but sleep as his eyes fluttered shut.

He awoke several minutes later with a start, to see a house-elf reaching for the empty bowl on his desk cautiously.

"Dobby," he said cordially. Of course- the characteristic 'pop' of house-elf apparition must have woken him up. Dobby jumped backwards, startled, dropping the bowl in the process. The metal bowl spun lazily in a wide circle before coming to a halt against the claw foot of the desk. Dobby looked at him reproachfully with wide, tennis-ball eyes.

"I is not meaning to drop the bowl, Professor Dumbledore, sir. Dobby was not expecting Professor Dumbledore to be awake. Dobby is sorry." Dumbledore smiled reassuringly, and made a dismissive hand gesture.

"It doesn't matter, Dobby. Don't worry about it." Dobby regarded him unsurely, not really knowing how to respond. Finally, he bent forwards and picked up the bowl, his bulbous green eyes still fixed on the headmaster.

"I is having to refill the bowl, doesn't I? What type of sweets is I to put in it?" Albus contemplated the question for a moment.

"Why don't you choose, Dobby?" he suggested. Dobby had spent far too long having his opinions and thoughts repressed by the Malfoys; Albus could tell that Dobby was the rare kind of elf that craved having an input that was valued by others, rather than have others dictate his actions.

Dobby's eyes welled up with tears, and he choked out, "Dobby is honoured, sir. Professor Dumbledore wants Dobby to choose for him?" He shook his head tearfully. "Dobby couldn't, sir. I is only a house-elf."

"I'd like you to pick," Albus encouraged him gently. "Do you have a favorite?" Dobby nodded fervently.

"I does, Professor Dumbledore, sir. Wait here." Dobby disappeared with another quiet 'pop', and Albus hid a smile. Seldom had he come across a house-elf with as much personality as Dobby possessed; it was a welcome break from the elves within the castle who barely dared to look him in the eye, let alone request wages and holidays. He wondered how Dobby was getting along with the other occupants of the kitchen, and made a mental note to ask him upon his return.

Dobby suddenly reappeared in a far corner of the room, underneath the window, holding a bowl piled high with what appeared to be peanuts. He placed the bowl proudly on Albus' desk, twisting his patterned tie hopefully. Albus regarded the bowl with a certain measure of caution.

"...Is you going to try one?" Dobby finally asked. His reverie broken, Albus supressed a grimace as he reached out for the bowl and popped one into his mouth. Biting into it, his expression changed to one of pleased surprise.

"These are nice. What are they?"

"Cockroach Clusters," Dobby said proudly. Caught off guard by this statement, Albus choked and spluttered as he tried to force it down his throat, as so not to offend him. Looking for a means of distracting himself from what he had just eaten, and to prevent Dobby from persuading him into eating another of them, he quickly picked up the sock he had been knitting. This distracted Dobby's attention very successfully, and his eyes were drawn to them immediately.

"What is those, if you doesn't mind me asking, sir?" Dobby said. Albus held them out so that Dobby could examine them.

"Those are knitting needles, Dobby. You use them to make things." However, the last part of his explanation went unheard, as Dobby had gasped loudly on discovering what, exactly, Albus had been knitting.

"You is knitting... socks?" Dobby said dazedly, as if it was too good to be true.

"Yes, that's a sock," he confirmed. He was completely unprepared for Dobby launching himself at the headmaster and hugging his legs tightly.

"Dobby knew it! Dobby knew it, sir- Professor Dumbledore is truly a great wizard!" He looked up, an expression of utter euphoria on his face. "Professor Dumbledore must show Dobby how to do it too!"

"Pardon?" Albus asked, looking faintly amused.

"Can Professor Dumbledore teach Dobby how to knit?"


End file.
